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SOMETUB'S 
CRUISE 

ON THE C. & O. CANAL 



^7l 



The Narrative of a Motorhoat 

Vacation in the Heart 

of Maryland 



BY 

JOHN P. COWAN 

1916 



Copyright, 1916, by John P. Cowan 






This Edition is Limited to 
200 Copies of Which This 
is No. 



>I6/ 



/ 



DEC 23 1916 

©GI,A4469()8 




HIS is a story of the initial cruise 
of "Sometub" — a narrative of the 
voyage of the newest type boat on 
America's oldest improved water- 
way. We exalted 30 cent gasoline 
and eased our conscience by fol- 
lowing in the patriotic footsteps of 
George Washington. 

Amid nature's most magnificent 
; scenery we linked the romance of 

M yesterday with the humdrum of the 

f workaday present. We established 

i ' J a new maxim, namely: To avoid the 

^< — «» J beaten path take the towpath! 

We enjoyed to the superlative de- 
gree the rare privilege of "Seeing America First," be- 
cause we saw it as the first American saw it. 

J. P. C. 
Pittsburgh, Pa., 

December 7th, 1916. 




Sunlight Vista on the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal 



I. 




HE CRUISE of the "Sometub" began 
at Oakmont on the Allegheny river 
in Pennsylvania and ended in Rock 
Creek in the shadow of the national 
capitol in the District of Columbia. 
In a total distance of 347 miles the 
little craft traversed six navigable 
waterways. Of course, there was a 
portage of 150 miles, but this was 
accomplished without inconvenience and provided a sea- 
sonable period to re-provision the boat Moreover, the 
150-mile trio overland demonstrated the advantage of a 
portable cruiser — of which "Sometub" has the distinc- 
tion of being the first in its class. 

"Sometub" narrowly escaped being christened 
"Kitchen Maid." It is literally a kitchen-made craft, 
that is, it was put together in the kitchen after its knock- 
down frame was received from a Michigan boatbuilder. 
When culinary activities in the aforesaid kitchen were 
partially suspended it afforded an ideal boatyard, but 
the fact that a kitchen would be put to such extraordi- 
nary use there was attracted thither a constant line of 
spectators, the majority of whom had as little nautical 
knowledge as the builders. Propped up on a stepladder 
the bony frame of the future boat looked like one of 
those uncanny paleontological specimens in the Carnegie 
museum, and drew from the visitors a flow of remarks 
entirely irrelevant to boatbuilding. Nearly everyone 
doubted that the thing would be made to float, but a 
few who were too polite to express their views went to 
the opposite extreme and indulged in a line of flattery 
that was more irritating than the skeptcism of the doubt- 
ing Thomases. 

"Well, that's some tub!" The oft repeated phrase 
trickled away somewhere into the damaged wall paper 
of the kitchen or into the big paint spot that ruined the 
linoleum, and when the time came to name the boat the 
words came back sufficiently anglicized and properly 
compounded — "Sometub." And i_t^ stuck! 

"Sometub" has been laughed at by hundreds of per- 
sons who will never know how it received its name. It 
looks less tub-like than the majority of motorboats. The 
Brooks Manufacturing Company up in Saginaw, from 
whom I bought the knockdown frame, doubtless would 
object to the innuendo suggesting tubbiness because 
they boast of it as one of their latest and most grace- 



PAGE SIX SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

ful models — a semi-V bottom shape which is especially 
noted both for speed and seaworthiness. And it is all 
they claim for it, and more, too! 

"Sometub" is 15 feet long by 43 inches on the 
beam. We took liberties with the Brooks plan by con- 
structing a bulkhead which enclosed five feet of the 
bow. This left a 10-foot cockpit, over which was erected 
a portable canopy top. Curtains that hung on the sides 
of the canopy made a snug cabin lOxS^/-; feet. For motive 
power we use an Evinrude motor. By the way, it is one 
of those coffee mill affairs that you screw on the stern 
of a skiff or rowboat. "Sometub" was designed for this 
very sort of equipment and the theory worked out beau- 
tifully — until the motor went wrong. And there lies the 
key to all the villainy that will be divulged in this plain 
tale of the cruise of "'Sometub" from Oakmont to Wash- 
ington. 

On account of the 150-mile portage from Pittsburgh 
to Cumberland, Md., it is advisable to allow seven days 
from the time of your departure on the Allegheny until 
your expected sailing from the other terminal of the port- 
age. In these seven days you will make the run down to 
the Pittsburgh Baltimore & Ohio freight station at Water 
street, pack your engine and duffle, bail out the boat, 
cart it to the Cumberland local freight car, see it stowed 
away and spend four days hoping that it will arrive in 
Cumberland before you and your cargo. Of course, 
your hopes will be blasted, but to hope is human. Any- 
how, you might as well realize at the outset that cross- 
country cruising is to be an intensely human experience. 

There was no ceremony when we backed out of a 
stall at the Oakmont Boat Club in the late afternoon of 
the 9th of last July and picked our way between the 
bathers, canoes and rowboats that clustered there. Even 
if there had been occasion for ceremony, the thought 
that we had to reach the Aspinwall lock before 6 o'clock 
or wait another hour, "on the hour," caused us to lay 
a course straight for Nine-mile Island. With its balky 
Evinrude five miles an hour is "Sometub's" best speed. 
Past colonies of summer camps on the O'Hara township 
bank of the Allegheny we continued our way hearing a 
giggle now and then as a maid in a canoe or on shore 
caught sight of the aluminum letters on our bow and 
spelled out "S-o-m-e-t-u-b." The tables were turned 
when we passed the "Ye Gauds" camp. Phonetic spell- 
ing is epidemic among river campers. Their's is not sim- 
plified, but rather perplexified spelling. 

For a mile above Aspinwall dam the Allegheny in 
breezy weather has all the choppiness of a landlocked 
lake and affords the exhileration of boating that is en- 
joyed on a much larger body of water. Here we wit- 
nessed a scene that was in strange contrast with the 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE SEVEN 

gayety farther up the river. Below the mouth of Squaw 
Run a group of terrifed children stood on the bank in- 
tently watching a skiff which was being rowed slowly 
down stream. At the oars was a youth vainly trying 
to look brave while at the stern a grizzled riverman 
dragged a grappling iron. It was the sequel to an old 
story. They were searching for the body of a boy who 
had been drowned an hour before while trying to ex- 
change seats in a canoe. 

To make the Aspinwall lock on schedule time is 
always cause for joy by the humble owner of a motor- 
boat. If he is not there "on the hour" he must wait 
until another 60 minutes have elapsed before the open- 
ing of the gates, unless a towboat should happen along. 
The same rule is in force at Lock No. 1 at Herr's Island. 
Here we arrived "in between times," but the gates were 
open and we started in. A lock tender caught sight 
of "Sometub" and waved frantically for us to get out 
and tie up alongside a barge which lay near the shore. 
Astern was the towboat Crucible making her way into 
the lock with a steel boat in tow. We followed the lock- 
tender's directions, but when the big craft approached 
and the pilot had sized us up, he stepped out on the 
hurricane deck and pointed a place for us to tie in the 
lock. When our motor began to sputter and he saw the 
name of the boat he laughed heartily and seemed to 
share our delight in getting into the lock chamber ahead 
of the Crucible. We soon chugged out and 15 minutes 
later rounded the Point, anointing "Sometub" for the 
first time with the waters of the Ohio. Running up the 
Monongahela in the twilight we moored at the motor- 
boat landing at the foot of Smithfield street. Here 
the boat was taken from the water and shipped to Cum- 
berland. 

I have said that we eased our conscience by fol- 
lowing the patriotic footsteps of George Washington. 
We struck the sacred trail in the first hour of our cruise 
when, running down the Allegheny we scudded under 
the decrepit Forty-third street bridge and past the his- 
toric point that once was separated from the mainland 
and was known as Wainwright's Island. From this point 
until the end of the journey we were constantly on 
ground intimately associated with the life of Washington. 

Indeed if it had not been for the enterprise of Wash- 
ington the cruise never would have been possible; if it 
had not been for Washington the Chesapeake and Ohio 
canal would not have been projected, and without this 
pioneer waterway the valley of the upper Potomac would 
be a solitary wilderness. The Baltimore and Ohio rail- 
road only followed its aquatic pacemaker and was 
pushed westward over the identical route Washington 
had laid out for his canal to connect the waters of 
the Potomac with those of the tributaries of the Ohio, 



PAGE EIGHT SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

the eastern link of the intercontinental route which he 
dreamed would some day connect the Atlantic seaboard 
with the great lakes, and the Mississippi valley. The 
Lake Erie and Ohio river ship canal is but a revival of 
Washington's gigantic project. "The Father of His 
Country" was a century and a half ahead of the times 
in his comprehension of the transportation problem. 

The history of the construction of this canal is a 
commercial romance replete with many a fascinating 
chapter involving personal peril, adventures, triumphs, 
failures and political intrigue; for four bloody years 
during the Civil war its right of way was held alternate- 
_^ ly by the Union and the Confederate armies, and many 

a grim tragedy was enacted there; today it is one of 
the few places in the country where the oldtime canal 
boat is to be seen in practical operation. 

But the story of the canal will come further along. 

It is essential in the narrative of the initial cruise of 

yC "Sometub" because its towpath, worn by 20 successive 

■ progenies of mules, is the path that paradoxically leads 

far, far away from the beaten path of modern travel. 

On Saturday evening, July 15th, we reached Cum- 
berland. Rain was falling but this did not deter us 
from launching "Sometub" in the waters of the canal. 
We had made up our minds that rain must be disregard- 
ed — and subsequent experience proved that this step 
toward resignation to the elements was well taken. Be- 
fore the voyage was three days old we realized that 
Jupiter Pluvius was a stowaway with us. For 100 miles 
we were the harbingers of showers, the advance agents 
of thunder, lightning, rain and cloudbursts. 

We had hoped to leave Cumberland before sunset 
and tie up for the night far from the noise of the city, 
but the best we could do between showers was to put 
everything in shipshape and wait for the dawn. Rain 
pattered down all night lone and came in repeated gusts 
during the day. In the meantime we sat on the hospit- 
able porch of a retired canal boat skipper and listened 
to his reminiscences of the "good old days." Our de- 
lay just now was due to our failure to procure our 
waybill, a document which gave us the right of way 
through the locks from Cumberland to Georgetown. In 
this document "Sometub" was put down as a motor- 
propelled craft of one ton net register and stipulated 
that it should proceed at a speed not exceeding four 
miles an hour. The waybill cost $5.10. 

Late in the afternoon we were informed that a 
deputy collector of the port, who lived "down the canal 
beyond the bridge," would hand us our waybill as we 
passed. Simultaneously with this good news the rain 
ceased and the sun came out in radiant glory. In two 
minutes we were away and broke the speed limit with 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE NINE 

the impunity of a motor driver who knows that if he 
does not exceed the legal speed his machine will stop 
altogether. We made a dash for the waybill. "Pshaw!" 
exclaimed the collector. "It's too bad I didn't know the 
name of your boat. I just wrote 'launch.' If I had known 
it had a name like that I would have put it down, sure." 

"What are the rules?" we asked him. 

"Keep to the left — always — that's all. Tie up on 
the berm side (to the left) and don't let yourself get 
dragged into the flume by the current at the locks." We 
thanked him and started again. We rounded the big 
bend of the Potomac, turning to the eastward where 
the blue horizon of the mountains melted into the blue- 
gray mists and clouds of the weeping sky. In what 
seemed an increditably short time we had left the city 
behind and glided along the vine-fringed, ribbon-like 
pool that wound its way into sequestered solitudes 
among the towering hills. Here and there a farm- 
house was visible in the distance on the uplands and 
occasionally a lonely cabin squatted among the willows 
and dank weeds that grew in the marshy places, but for 
the greater part of our run on this level we hugged close 
to the hillside or proceeded through courses of broad 
meadows. 

It was the first time an outboard motor cruiser had 
been seen on the canal, and for that matter in the Poto- 
mac valley, and "Sometub" attracted much attention 
among the country folk and the crews of the boats. We 
passed our first canal boat beyond South Cumberland at 
a point where the channel was scarcely 30 feet wide and 
narrowly escaped rasping off our propeller on a ledge 
of rocks that formed the berm bank, our danger being 
due to the provokingly deliberate action of the steers- 
man on the big mule-drawn hulk. After that we waited 
for sufficient leeway before attempting to pass canal 
boats in narrow channels. 

At sunset a whitewashed log house came into view 
and as we approached we recognized the huge arms of 
the lock gates. Beyond the locktender's cabin we saw 
the roofs of the houses in the little village of North 
Branch, Md. Here was our first lock, the first of the 
75 in 184 miles on the canal between Cumberland and 
Georgetown. We were curious to know how "Sometub" 
would behave in an old-fashioned lock with leaky gates 
and were anxious to push on to the tunnel some 30 miles 
east of Cumberland where the canal for nearly a mile 
of its course passes underneath one of the lofty ridges 
of the Alleghanies. Ominous clouds in the west hastened 
the approaching night. The proximity of a shelter in 
case of a heavy rainstorm caused us to accept the lock- 
tender's hospitality to tie up for the night alongside the 
flume at the head of the lock. 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE ELEVEN 

Making the boat fast to the lockhouse we lighted 
our oil lantern, dropped the side curtains and disre- 
garded the returning rain while we prepared dinner on 
two small stoves formed by a pair of tripod rings con- 
taining cans of solid alcohol. Motor boating creates a 
genuine appetite and we had all the facilities for pre- 
paring a good dinner in the smallest possible space. 
The deck of "Sometub" provided a dry place for the 
storing of bedding, dishes and supplies and there was 
no crowding at mealtime. After dinner we wrote up the 
log, spread a mattress in the bottom of the boat, fast- 
ened down the curtains and retired early. 

The night was inky dark. The lights in the lock- 
tender's dwelling were extinguished before 9 o'clock 
and the denizens of the village of North Branch, several 
hundred yards away, seemed to seek repose at the same 
hour. The solitude of the place grew oppressive. About 
midnight we were aroused by a shriek that pierced the 
night air and echoed back from the mountains across 
the river. Parting the curtains, we saw two sheeted 
forms on the towpath, their ghostly outlines standing 
out against the cloudy sky, while the waters of the canal 
reflected a pair of shimmering specters which at first 
glance were calculated to make the average stranger 
wish that he made this trip in a Pullman car. 

Again the shrieking broke forth and the sheeted 
forms began to move. We were undergoing our initi- 
ation in night traveling on the canal, but we didn't realize 
Jt at the time. 



II. 



OF THOSE ghosts that are simply ghosts I have no 
fear. Some persons whistle when they pass 
country graveyards after dark in order, they say, 
to keep up courage; for the same reason I sometimes 
whistle on Broadway. Specters are harmless if they 
do not assume material form. The apparitions on the 
Chesapeake and Ohio canal towpath soon lost their 
ethereal quality in our vision and the unearthly noise 
that accompanied their manifestation translated itself 
into "you black-hearted, ornery, low-lifed beggar^ — 
geddap!" 

There was a familiar rattle of harness. The spec- 
ters moved again, but more quickly this time. Against 
the black infiniteness of the mountains across the river 
were the shadowy forms of a pair of gray mules hitched 
in tandem. Wearily they plodded off, and moving slow- 
ly, tediously, silently behind them a canal boat fol- 
lowed along at the end of an invisible towline. 

A canal boat at night is a great hulk of hush. Its 
silence is positively uncanny. A few ripples momen- 
tarily disturb the placid surface of the water but as they 
swirl around the craft they seem to beckon a state of 
funereal quietude. You can hardly blame the midnight 
driver of the canal boat for his profane vociferousness 
in addressing his mules. His voice alone breaks the 
death-like stillness. After the lock has been passed and 
the patient animals take up their gait, even he is over- 
come by the environment and relapses into drowsy si- 
lence. 

At intervals through the night other specters ap- 
peared over there on the towpath and their advent in- 
variably was heralded by the same hair-raising shouts. 
The noise of cussing the poor mules followed as cer- 
tainly as the agonizing "low music" during tense 
moments in a melodrama. 

Tardy dawn ushered in a gloomy day. We placed 
our "canned heat" range on a lumber pile beside the 
North Branch lockhouse and had our coffee and bacon 
progressing satisfactorily toward the proper elements of 
an al fresco breakfast when rain began to fall. We re- 
treated to the boat. The rain continued unabated and 
we breakfasted on board. Inasmuch as we were obliged 
to keep the curtains down and tuck the baggage under 
a poncho, it was impracticable — we thought — to pro- 
ceed on our journey. 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE THIRTEEN 

The locktender's office at North Branch has seen 
service for more than half a century. We can testify 
to this because after we had sought its shelter and read 
all the magazines bought on the beginning of the trip 
we turned to a perusal of the lockmaster's records. 
These books date back to the 60's and it was fascinating 
to read on the faded pages the entries for the boats and 
cargoes of a by-gone era. The boats now operating are 
distinguished by numbers from 1 to 100, but in the old 
days they bcre names, suggestive, no doubt, of their 
architecture and other characteristics, or of the ambi- 
tion of their owners. 

Noon brought no cessation of the rain. We ate 
luncheon in the office. "Star boarders" could not have 
reported more promptly at meal time. Good appetites 
were the most encouraging features of this portion of 
the trip. At 2 o'clock in the afternoon the skies cleared 
slightly and in a few minutes we resumed our voyage. 
The three locks at North Branch, Nos. 75, 74 and 73, 
respectively, were negotiated in less than 15 minutes and / 
we found ourselves on "Oldtown level." 

In the language of the boatmen and the denizens 
of the canal country all geographical distinctions are 
made strictly "on the level." A "level," we learned, is 
that stretch of the canal between two given locks. From 
Cumberland to Georgetown (Washington) there are 75 
locks, and consequently the same number of levels. 
plus one. 

There is an ancient and honorable superstition to 
the effect that the person who sets out on a journey and 
turns back is certain to meet with disappointment. Ten 
minutes after we departed from North Branch we re- 
membered that we had left our maps behind in the lock- 
master's office. The maps, United States Geological 
Survey quadrangles, were indispensable and we turned 
back. Prompt and speedy came our disappointment. 

OLDTOWN LEVEL is about 10 miles long. We esti- 
mated that we could reach Oldtown village in 
about two hours. While the idle hours had drag- 
ged along in the sleepy hamlet of North Branch we 
looked forward longingly to Oldtown. The name sounded 
enchanting and moreover we were told that we could 
procure gasoline, groceries and our favorite brands of 
confectionery there. After running merrily about seven 
miles our motor stopped cold. No amount of coaxing 
would make it run. Gathering clouds betokened a re- 
sumption of the rain. No human habitation was in 
sight. 

The motor's affliction was difficult of diagnosis, but 
its trouble appeared to be serious. I had just made up 
my mind that the boat would have to be paddled or 



PAGE FOURTEEN SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

towed to the end of the level when Canal Boat No. 14 
eased along. The skipper inquired we were "in trouble." 
It was mere charity and politeness of him to ask, be- 
cause the expression on our faces must have told him 
that we regarded our condition as one of dire distress. 

"His en-jine's done busted," shouted the little rag- 
ged muleteer as he passed us on his plodding animals. 

"Ketch the line," advised the skipper, while we 
grasped the piece of rope he tossed toward us. Making 
his rope fast to a cleat on the bow we saw "Sometub" 
humiliated by being towed at the stern of a slow-moving 
freight boat towed in turn by two decrepit mules. "Some- 
tub" felt the disgrace keenly and jerked about like an 
unbroken colt that feels a rein for the first time. Only 
strenuous use of the paddle as a steering oar kept the 
proud little boat in the channel. In this way we moved 
stupidly into Oldtown. An hour and a half was re- 
quired to go less than three miles. 

On reaching the lock at Oldtown it was apparent 
that there would not be room between the gates to ac- 
commodate both the canal boat and "Sometub," and the 
skipper cast us off in a fashion so uncermonious that 
we floated in his wake feeling like unbidden guests at 
a feast. The big freight boat glided away, leaving us on 
the wrong side of the gate. You know how sometimes 
you turn and drive away the homeless dog that sheepish- 
ly follows you down the street? Well, we felt placed in 
the situation of the homeless dog. 

It was the first time in my life that I experienced 
a sincere desire to embrace the teachings of anarchy. 
After the canal boat had started on its way Mr. Carter, 
the lockmaster, returned to inquire into our wants. 

"What are you going to do with us?" I asked him. 

"Lock you through," he answered. "Give me your 
line and I'll tow you in. Then you can tie up over there 
and stop at my house all night. My wife will have a 
nice hot supper for you. The gentleman who runs the 
store up on the hill has an automobile and knows a lot 
about gas engines. I know he'll be delighted to fix up 
your machine." 

It was hard to believe that he meant what he said. 
He had enunciated that kind of hospitality which I had 
thought no longer existed except in books that sell at 
SI. 08. My wife, however, did not share my skepticism. 
Here was good old-fashioned southern hospitality and 
she emphasized the fact with some pride that we were 
now well over the Mason & Dixon line and might expect 
cordiality to be something more than a meaningless 
phrase. She rushed across the towpath to chat with the 
lockmaster's wife and daughters while Mr. Carter towed 
"Sometub" through the lock and found a suitable place 
to tie up on the berm bank of the short level. 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE FIFTEEN 

OLDTOWN, I believe, was called Oldtown even in 
its younger days. I believe also that now in its 
boast of municipal veneration it looks younger 
than it did in its youth. The wrinkled visage of great 
age is in strange contrast with its modern affectations. 
Personify it and you would have the picture of a centen- 
arian doing a fox trot. Oldtown is one of the oldest 
settlements in western Maryland and it dwelt on in a 
kind of proud senility until West Virginia went "dry." 
Being on the border Oldtown possessed a situation of 
peculiar strategic value. It afforded the opportunity for 
the establishment of an exceedingly "wet" outpost, and 
the opportunity did not go begging. In consequence the 
chief enterprise of Oldtown is slaking the thirsts of 
West Virginians from many miles up and down the Poto- 
mac. The structures that domicile these establishments 
form a cluster of new buildings that gives Oldtown 
something of the appearance of a boom town in the 
west. A sincere opponent of the liquor traffic would be 
justified in saying that Oldtown is in its second child- 
hood. 

With many thanks we declined the hospitality of 
the whole-souled lockmaster and his family and cooked 
our dinner in a drizzling rain and "tinkered" on the 
motor until after midnight. The knowledge that we were 
among friends enabled us to make ourselves comfort- 
able for the night regardless of the weather. 

In the morning we were awakened by a call from 
Mr. Carter. He came to give me "a lift" with the motor. 
As a last forlorn hope I gave the flywheel a twirl — and 
it went! We made all haste to depart and before the 
sun had reached the mountain tops we were under way. 
With good behavior on the part of the motor "Sometub" 
is the spryest young boat you ever saw, and on this 
Tuesday, July 18th, we made our record run. The sky 
was cloudless and out in the meadows we watched farm- 
ers and harvest hands sweltering in the broiling sun, 
but in the shade of the stately trees that form an arch 
over the canal in this region we enjoyed a delightful 
atmosphere. Steep cliffs enclose the north bank of 
the canal and over these in luxuriant profusion were 
seemingly endless brambles of blackberry vines bur- 
dened with luscious ripe fruit. For luncheon we skirt- 
ed the cliffs and picked a dish of berries which with 
crackers and tea enabled us to have a unique and de- 
licious repast without tying up the boat. 

Our logbook for this day contains nevertheless 
many entries of enforced stops. Wild grass growing up 
in the bottom of the canal checked us frequently and 
necessitated removing long coils that choked the pro- 
peller. Shortly after noon we reached the tunnel which 
carries the waters of the canal for seven-eighths of a 
mile under one of the lofty ridges of the Alleghanies. 



PAGE SIXTEEN SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

The channel is barely wide enough to allow the passage 
of a single craft and we knew that we must hold the 
right of way or back out in case we should meet a canal 
boat. The tunnel has no lights and when you get into 
its depths it is a veritable black hole in the ground. 

Fixing our red and green running lights we started 
bravely in, but after going a dozen yards we struck 
windrows of grass and weeds which made it impossible 
for our propeller to turn. There was but one thing to 
do, and I climbed out on the narrow shelf of a towpath 
and took the end of the line while my better, and on 
this occasion, less nervous half, caught up the paddle 
and steered. The towpath in the tunnel is intended only 
for mules. In many places are mountain springs whose 
icy waters trickle down through the old brick walls and 
transform the towpath into soft mire that is knee deep. 
It was the longest seven furlongs I ever trod and I came 
out of the tunnel with a feeling of profound respect 
for the canal boat mule. 

Our cruise during the remainder of the afternoon 
was delightful. Here is the wildest scenery in the up- 
per Potomac valley and there are few settlements. The 
locktenders were the only persons we saw for hours 
at a time and the locks were few. Likewise on this 
part of our run we passed no boats. We felt real neigh- 
borly toward the train crews on the Baltimore and Ohio 
and Western Maryland railroads when they condescend- 
ed to look at us as they sped past. For miles, however, 
no railroad was in sight. 

A COUNTRY store keeper at Little Orleans, who 
dealt in everything from women's "fashionable 
gowns" to fresh fish and from "near beer" to 
gasoline, enabled us to continue our voyage without 
delay. From him we purchased a supply of gasoline, 
oil and tobacco — three important items for the "engine 
room." When the motor is out of order the consumption 
of tobacco is particularly heavy. 

In the twilight we passed the village of Pearre and 
at dark drew up alongside the dock of the Woodmont 
Hunting and Fishing Club. Dinner was late this night 
but the weather was perfect and no fashionable restaur- 
ant could have offered more inviting surroundings for 
the diner with an appetite whetted by a day of toil in 
the great outdoors. We sat in the boat and used the 
dock for a table. And we would not have exchanged the 
privilege for the finest mahogany ever turned out! 

We were in Dixie now, sure enough. On the club- 
house porch up on the hill a party of young people 
were holding a dance which was enlivened by singing 
oldtime songs that recalled our presence in the beloved 
Southland. As two tired voyagers dropped off to slum- 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE SEVENTEEN 

ber they heard the sweet strains of an inspiring melody 
that floated on the still night air far across the Poto- 
mac hills — ■ 

For life and death, for woe and weal, 
Thy peerless chivalry reveal. 
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, 
Maryland, my Maryland) 



III. 



THE HEART OF MARYLAND" is quite as elusive, 
geographically, as the phrase is trite. After being 
lulled to sleep at Woodmont by the old wartime 
song and awakened on a sunny morning by the carols 
of thrush and mockingbird, we felt that the enchanted 
land of romance in the old Cavalier commonwealth 
must indeed be near at hand. 

We made no haste to leave the hospitable dock at 
Woodmont. The day was ideal and our camera was 
chaffing under long idleness. I had passed this point 
a score of times on daylight trains of the Baltimore and 
Ohio railroad and longed for an opportunity to tarry 
here. On our voyage in "Sometub" we realized the oft- 
repeated wish and made the most of it. 

A heartless motor, however, robbed the "heart of 
Maryland" of much of its heartsomeness — for us. Leav- 
ing Woodmont about the middle of the forenoon on 
Wednesday, July 19, we ran past the ancient settlement 
of Sir John's Run, proceeded on under the shadow of 
Round Mountain, in Maryland, and picturesque Lover's 
Leap, in West Virginia, and glided into the prosperous 
looking town of Hancock shortly after 2 o'clock. Han- 
cock gained fame in the winter of 1861-62 when Stone- 
wall Jackson, from the hills south of the Potomac, 
deigned to throw a few shells into this Maryland vil- 
lage. It was not a sanguinary battle, but at that early 
period in the war it was considered a bold thing for the 
Confederate leader to do, and for the time being dis- 
turbed the "alls-quiet-along-the-Potomac" that had be- 
come stereotyped in the reports of the military situation 
farther down the stream. At Hancock a short spur of 
the Baltimore and Ohio runs up to Berkley Springs, a 
watering place that boasts of patronage by Virginia 
aristocrats back in George Washington's time. 

Resolved that we would forego the luxury of lunch- 
eon on board, we tied up under the highway bridge, left 
"Sometub" in charge of the toll-keeper and strolled 
into town. At the hotel we were too late for dinner 
and were told that the dining room would not be open 
for the service of supper until 6 o'clock. In desperation 
we sought a restaurant — and in two minutes regretted 
that we had not prepared our own luncheon on the 
boat. 



PAGE TWENTY SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

Isn't it peculiar how the smallest trifles will alter 
the most elaborate plans? A trifling ham sandwich 
in a two by four restaurant caused us to evacuate 
Hancock forthwith. We had intended to remain 
here a day or longer, run over to Berkley Springs and 
perhaps go fishing. Instead we left town so precipi- 
tately that we forgot to stop at the postoffice and ask 
if our mail had been forwarded. 

A FEW miles east of Hancock is a wide-water a mile 
long in the canal known as Little Pool, the chan- 
nel being about the width of the Monongahela 
river at the Smithfield street bridge. From Hancock to 
this point we were obliged to stop frequently on ac- 
count of grass that clogged the propeller, and on enter- 
ing Little Pool the obstruction was so great that it was 
necessary to get out and tow several hundred yards. 
When clear water was regained the motor began to show 
signs of balking, and after a heart-rending effort to 
repair it on the towpath, we threw the thing into the 
boat and paddled our way through the rural hamlet of 
Millstone where housewives, milking their cows on the 
bank of the canal, stared at us pityingly as wc labored 
by. Cow stables and pig stys on the berm bank offered 
no mooring place in the town, and we plied the paddle 
until we reached a secluded stretch of woodland where 
we could be alone in our chagrin over the obstinacy of 
the motor. 

When we lighted our lantern we were annoyed for 
the first time by a swarm of mosquitoes. We had been 
warned before the trip that these insects on the canal 
were related to the Jersey "man-eaters" and would 
make life miserable on our cruise. We were prepared 
for their ravages, but fortunately a little breeze sprang 
up after nightfall and they gave us no more trouble. 
They were the only militant mosquitoes that we saw 
between Cum.berland and Georgetown. 

As if gloating over our discomfiture in having lost 
our motive power, a double-bass bullfrog started in to 
make the night hideous. His favorite singing dias was 
in the pool right under the bow of the boat. When a 
stone was thrown in his direction he retreated into 
deep water, but invariably returned. Late in the night 
I hit upon the expedient of pouring a pint of 39-cent 
gasoline on the water. The croaker croaked no more. 

In the morning a little tinkering was rewarded by 
the motor showmg signs of renewing operations and we 
started in high hopes, but after a few hundred rods 
it was apparent that we were making little speed and we 
limped into the tiny hamlet of Ernestville where we 
stopped for supplies and fresh water. Ernestville is 
a poor shopping center and fresh water and kerosene 
were about all we could obtain. 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE TWENTY-ONE 

Along this stretch of the canal it is paralleled for 
a considerable distance by the old National Pike, which 
on this particular morning was thronged by automo- 
bile tourists. As they sped by we knew that they would 
be in Hagerstown in an hour. We wondered if we 
would reach there in a day. It was apparent now that 
we must take our crippled motor to a garage and 
Hagerstown was the nearest point where we could ob- 
tain the services of a mechanic skilled in repairing ma- 
rine engines. To reach Hagerstown from the canal we 
decided to stop at Williamsport and this was now our 
goal. 

BIG POOL is a widewater where the canal broadens 
into a beautiful lake nearly a mile wide and more 
than a mile long. Our balky motor pushed us 
into this big sheet of water and then stopped with a 
derisive screech. It was the ultimatum of a dry bear- 
ing and it was inexorable. While we were floundering 
in the breeze and trying to paddle ashore, a motorboat 
came alongside and its occupants inspected our equip- 
ment. "Sometub" they liked immensely, but the engine 
perplexed them. We were looking for neither advice 
nor sympathy and the stranger who acted very superior 
and said, "I have a Koban," didn't improve his favor in 
our eyes. 

Then into our lives came a heroic figure. Just at 
that moment he appeared the greatest man in the world 
— philanthropist, navigator, philosopher! He was the 
skipper of Canal Boat No. 18 which swept majestically 
down the pool. His boat appeared as big and formi- 
dable as the new superdreadnaught Pennsylvania. Dex- 
terous work with the paddle enabled us to get in its lee. 
Up there on his quarterdeck stood the skipper. I since ^ 
believe that he must have resembled Noah, but to ^il ^ ^ 
two — we felt like castaways — he was indeed a mighty 
admiral. But he was the admiral of a friendly power 
and amid all his dignity there was a benign expression 
also of stern consideration for a brother mariner in 
distress. We gazed at him and his noble craft in mute 
appeal. 

"Ketch the line!" 

Like spent swimmers grasping for a straw, we 
seized the line and made it fast. For the second time 
"Sometub" was humiliated by being towed by a prosaic 
freight boat. 

Two miles an hour is top speed for a laden canal 
boat and No. 18's tired mules kept well inside this limit. 
At the end of the towline we nosed along in perfect 
complacency. We chatted with the skipper, admired 
the scenery, examined our maps of the route, chaffed 
the villagers, ate our luncheon, jogged the motor, read 




Above — Upper Level at Four Locks 
Below— Old-Time Mill 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE TWENTY-THREE 

a little, took short naps and made ourselves absolutely 
comfortable. Our only effort was to keep on the shady 
side of the boat, for the weather was the hottest we 
had endured. As a remedy for tired nerves I can testi- 
fy to the curative qualities of canalboating. 

The skipper was a man of parts. He had run the 
canal for more than 20 years. He had walked every 
inch of the towpath from Cumberland to Washington 
every hour of the day and night and he declared that 
he could pace those 184 miles with his eyes blindfolded. 
He recognized every hill and house and tree and could 
tell their history. He knew all the neighborhood gossip, 
and all the neighbors knew him. 

Toward the end of the drowsy afternoon we floated 
into the little village of Four Locks which takes its 
name from the fact that a chain of four locks are here. 
No. 18 cast us off and we prepared to paddle through. 
To our surprise the motor condescended to run. At the 
time I was ready to believe that it heard the mule 
driver's sublime cussing and was frightened into obe- 
dience. 

With the motor running again we soon passed No. 
18 and snorted off around a sharp bend, through Two 
Locks where we were lowered into the waters of the 
Potomac. I say "snorted" advisedly. "Sometub" ex- 
hibited colt-like behavior when unleashed from the 
slow-moving canal craft. The towpath follows the 
northern bank of the river and the boats hug the shore 
closely, but v.e careened far out into the stream. "Some- 
tub" had found a nautical playground more spacious 
than it had ever enjoyed before. 

After a two-mile run on the river we entered an- 
other lock and once more were confined to the compara- 
tively narrow channel of the canal. We found all con- 
ditions favorable and at sunset we crossed the great 
stone aqueduct over the winding Conococheague and 
a few minutes later tied up at the Williamsport lock. 

I was now on familiar ground. Eleven years be- 
fore I had visited historic Williamsport in quest of 
newspaper "feature stories," and a decade had witnessed 
but little change in the place. In the early days of the 
Federal government Williamsport was a pretentious bid- 
der as the seat for the national capital. In the Civil 
War it was a sort of Pryzmyl, having been taken and 
retaken by the armies of both the north and the south, 
but the town itself was of no importance except as the 
key to strategic positions beyond. Here in June, 1863, 
the vanguard of Lee's conquering legions crossed the 
Potomac when they swept down the Shenandoah and 
crossed triumphantly into Pennsylvania, and here less 
than a month later their ragged columns made a bold 
stand against Meade's victorious forces while the re- 



PAGE TWENTY-FOUR SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

treating Confederates waited for the flood to subside 
so that they could withdraw into Virginia. Along the 
street that leads down to the river are many of the 
old houses whose walls resounded with the tread 
of those valiant armies — Union and Confederate. In 
those houses, too, many a soldier suffered the agony of 
wounds received in the desperate charges at Gettysburg. 
Of those southern heroes who raced with death from 
that immortal field, scores gave up their lives here in 
sight of their native Virginia hills. 

Williamsport today is another of those outposts for 
supplying alcoholic drinks to bleary-eyed pilgrims from 
West Virginia and in consequence does not afford hotel 
accommodations for the ordinary traveler. After trying 
in vain to get dinner, we boarded a trolley car and 40 
minutes later reached Hagerstown where we stopped for 
the night, enjoying the solid luxury of a "room with 
bath connecting." 

AMONG Hagerstown's well known business men is 
Mr. Walter E. Pattison, a former Pittsburgher. 
We sent him a grape-vine telegram of our ad- 
vent in town and on coming down from breakfast in the 
morning he hailed us with a motorcar and an invitation 
for a drive through Greater Hagerstown. We accepted 
with alacrity, remembering the tedious hours of the pre- 
vious day, and made no objection when the chauffeur 
cut up didoes with the Maryland speed limit. 

Mr. Pattison accompanied us to Williamsport in 
the afternoon to see "Sometub" and to join a little re- 
union with Col. George W. McCardell, the veteran editor 
of the Williamsport Leader. Editor McCardell had been 
looking for me for eleven years and we were somewhat 
in doubt as to the outcome of the interview. The reason 
for his desire to lay hands on me was, as nearly as I 
can remember, the following paragraph which was print- 
ed over mv name in the Pittsburgh Gazette in the sum- 
mer of 1905: 

The Williamsport Leader is more than a 
journalistic enterprise — it is a well founded 
institution. It is the oracle of rockribbed Dem- 
ocracy, the unflinching champion of pure Jef- 
fersonism and unfaltering Andyjacksonism. . . . 
The editor will take two pairs of Maryland 
frying-size chickens on subscription, but of his 
Virginia subscribers he requires three pairs in 
advance because, he says, the Maryland pullets 
are better and more tender. 

I resolved to meet the editor and finish the argu- 
ment. Mr. Pattison led the way to a new and prosper- 
ously attractive sanctum. It was publication day — 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE TWENTY-FIVE 

Friday — and Col. McCardell, after a strenuous week, 
stood with folded arms beside an imposing stone with 
type still wet from the day's "run." My wife, who em- ^ — r "(^g-'' 
bodies the traditions of five generations _of the editor's^ '^ »^ * 5 
brand of politics but who stood ready to~~3efend the" ^f^(rC^ ^ 
quality of Virginia chicken against the world, was the 
first to enter the den of the journalistic lion. It was a 
clever ruse on Mr. Pattison's part, for first of all Col. 
McCardell is a chivalrous southern gentleman. Why, of 
course, Virginia fried chicken is the finest in the land. 
And Virginia women compose the very flower of Amer- 
ican womanhood. Their presence here is welcomed 
like the May-time sunshine. The Potomac ripples soft- 
ly when they cross the river and in the trees on the 
Maryland shore the summer zephyrs sing sweet beni- 
sons to the fair daughters of the Old Dominion. 

And when I entered the feud of eleven years had 
vanished. I could only blush and bow my acknowledge- 
ments. 

With fond good-byes to Col. McCardell and Mr. 
Pattison we departed in the mid-afternoon bound for 
Mercerville by twilight in the hope that we would have 
the following day to spend on Antietam battlefield. But 
we had not reckoned with the elements. Four miles 
below Williamsport a terrific storm burst upon us. So 
sudden was the tempest that we were obliged to tie to 
the towpath bank to prevent the furious gales of wind 
from capsizing the boat. For a few minutes it seemed 
that our canopy would be torn to tatters. Our lines 
gave way and I climbed out to steady the heaving craft. 
Then it rained in such torrents that it momentarily took 
away my breath. Vivid flashes of lightning and deaf- 
ening thunder followed in instant succession. The wind 
wrenched big sycamores from their roots and they 
crashed across the miry towpath like jackstraws thrown 
by an angry giant. The storm lasted more than an hour 
but a steady patter of rain followed. Our supplies 
stored under the deck and protected by the poncho were 
dry, but our clothes were dripping and the temperature 
had turned chill and raw. Darkness was coming on and 
we prepared to tie up for the night. How bright and 
warm looked the blue flame from the canned alcohol 
while we boiled our coffee! 

It was a gloomy outlook, but southern hospitality 
which proved the silver lining to every dark cloud on 
our cruise, once more intervened. A farmer rode down 
the towpath and invited us to go to his house for the 
night. Our good Samaritan was Mr. J. H. Wine, whose 
home nestles snugly under the mountain beside the 
canal. We accepted with haste that we hoped would in- 
dicate our extreme gratitude and soon had our dripping 
duds spread cut on the backs of chairs before the range 
in the spacious kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Wine tendered us 



PAGE TWENTY-SIX SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

the guest room and we sought slumber early. Only the 
outdoor enthusiast would have been worthy of the fru- 
gal breakfast in the morning. We thanked our good 
hosts and prepared to depart. The question of remuner- 
ation for favors invariably was spurned by the hospit- 
able people on the canal. 

The sun came out gloriously and we hoped to reach 
Mercerville by noon. We did, but there the motor balked 
again and we spent two hours trying to fix it. We gave 
up the thought of visiting Antietam and about the time 
the shadows began to lengthen, started solemnly toward 
Shepherdstown, five honest miles down the canal. We 
paddled and towed alternately, making even slower 
progress than in the wake of No. 18. Darkness came 
on and we were still on the lonely path. About 9 o'clock 
we reached a lock and were told that Shepherdstown was 
still a mile beyond. A storm was gathering and the 
lockmaster invited us to tie up and spend the night in his 
house notwithstanding that it would place several mem- 
bers of his large family at an inconvenience. We agreed 
to leave the boat, but insisted on going to Shepherdstown 
where we could find a hotel and a garage mechanic. 

AGAINST the protests of the lockmaster and his wife 
we lighted our lantern and started down the lone- 
ly towpath. Black clouds obscured the sky and 
we stumbled along at times having difficulty in keeping 
on the path. Flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder 
betokened a storm that would rival the one on the pre- 
vious night. Our lantern's flickering light only intensified 
the darkness but the lightning frequently assisted us 
when its glare illuminated the entire landscape. 

In our race with the storm we were the first under 
the wire. Fleeing across the bridge over the Potomac 
we breathlessly climbed the hill and along a dark street 
to the center of the town whither we had been directed 
to the hotel. Suddenly we rounded a corner into an 
electric-lighted thoroughfare and stood before the en- 
trance of the Rumsey House. Our clothes were wrinkled 
and we were splashed with mud from head to foot. We 
still carried our lighted lantern and the crowd at the 
hotel gazed at us with expressions twixt curiosity and 
amazement. The proprietor was moved to commiser- 
ation. 

"Come in here, you-all, right away," he said. 



IV. 



THE hallowed notes of church chimes awakened us- 
on our first morning in Shepherdstown and before 
the day was an hour older we felt grateful to the 
motor for compelling our stop-over in this quaint com- 
munity. Geographically Shepherdstown is in West Vir- 
ginia, but politically, socially and traditionally it leans 
toward the Old Dominion. It lies in Jefferson county at 
the foot of the beautiful Shenandoah valley and is es- 
sentially southern. Its whole atmosphere and the sym- 
pathy of its people belong distinctly to Piedmont Vir- 
ginia. It is the Alsace-Lorraine of America. >/ 

Next to Alexandria, Shepherdstown is perhaps the 
oldest important settlement in the Potomac valley. It 
is one of the few old towns in the country that has 
not been defaced by too much present day progress. 
Shepherdstown has always been a substantial prosper- 
ous place and does not affect the gewgaws of the new 
rich municipality. In some respects it resembles Con- 
cord, Massachusetts. Its streets have many features in 
common with the thoroughfares of the old-time New 
England towns. In many of the residences are pre- 
served some of the most striking characteristics of 
chaste colonial architecture. 

It was a restful place to spend Sunday and in the 
evening we joined the villagers in a stroll through the 
shady streets and out on the bluff overlooking the 
Potomac. Here on the edge of the cliffs on a 
natural base of limestone rock is an imposing shaft late- 
ly erected to the memory of James Rumsey, Shepherds- 
town pioneer and inventor of the steamboat. Rumsey, 
you know, was the Langley of steam navigation. While 
Prof. Langley originated the idea of the heavier than 
air system of aeronautic transportation, his aeroplane, 
upon which experiments were made on this same Poto- 
mac river, was not perfected to the point of standing the 
practical test. Two bicycle mechanics in Dayton, Ohio, 
were destined to make a crowning achievement where 
the scientist had failed. Posterity will demand that the 
Wright brothers share their fame with Langley. 

Although Robert Fulton is popularly credited with- 
the invention of the steamboat, he only perfected the 
work which was started by Rumsey in the waters of the 
Potomac at Shepherdstown in September, 1784. In the 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE TWENTY-NINE 

presence of George Washington a boat which ascended 
the stream by mechanical appliances was exhibited by 
Rumsey 23 years before Fulton's Clermont made its 
memorable voyage on the Hudson. 

The house in which Rumsey lived is one of the his- 
toric landmarks of Shepherdstown. The inventor went 
to Europe and built a new boat which made a success- 
ful trip on the Thames in December, 1792. A few weeks 
later sudden death in the very prime of life cut short 
Rumsey's career. 

In the Civil War Shepherdstown endured the agony 
but shared little of the glory of battle. It is about 
eight miles north of Harper's Ferry and less than four 
miles west of Antietam. Skirmishes took place here 
early in the war and in September, 1862, it saw Stone- 
wall Jackson's famous foot cavalry sprint through this 
corner of Jefferson county in his encircling movement 
for the capture of Harper's Ferry. A week later echoes 
of the guns engaged in the bloody work at Antietam 
reverberated against the hills around Shepherdstown and 
on the afternoon of that 17th day of September hun- 
dreds of mutilated men were carried into the village and 
committed to the care of the townspeople. 

The wounded were Confederate soldiers and from 
the majority of homes in Shepherdstown had gone 
fathers, sons, brothers to fight under Lee or Jackson. 
Marie Blunt, one of the heroic women who assisted 
caring for the wounded, in describing that melancholy 
day, said: 

"We went about our work with pale faces and trem- 
bling hands, yet trying to appear composed for the sake 
of our patients, who were much excited. We could hear 
the incessant explosions of artillery, the shrieking whist- 
ling of the shells, and the sharper, deadlier, more thril- 
ling roll of musketry: while every now and then the 
echo of some charging cheer would come, borne by the 
wind, and as the human voice pierced that demoniacal 
■clangor we would catch our breath and listen, and try 
not to sob, and turn back to forlorn hospitals, to the 
suffering at our feet and before our eyes, while imagi- 
nation fainted at the thought of those other scenes hid- 
den from us beyond the Potomac. 

"On our side of the river there were noise, con- 
fusion, dust; throngs of stragglers; horsemen galloping 
about; wagons blocking each other, and teamsters 
wrangling; and a continued din of shouting, swearing 
and rumbling, in the midst of which men were dying, 
fresh wounded arriving, surgeons amputating limbs and 
dressing wounds, women going in and out with bandages, 
lint, medicines, food. An everpresent sense of anguish, 
dread, pity, and, I fear, hatred — these are my recol- 
lections of .Antietam." 



PAGE THIRTY SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

LEAVING our invalid motor in care of a garage me- 
chanic we boarded a Norfolk & Western train 
Monday morning to visit Antietam battlefield. It is 
a ride of less than 10 minutes from Shepherdstown to 
the station of Antietam which is adjacent to the village 
of Sharpsburg. The half a century that has passed since 
the war has witnessed but slight change here. Nearly all 
the houses are of the antebellum type. The woods have 
been cleared at various places over the field, but other- 
wise the landscape has changed but little when com- 
pared with wartime photographs and sketches of the 
battle. 

A walk through the town and the national ceme- 
tery brought us to the Hagerstown pike which paral- 
lels the battle lines on the northern half of the field. 
Threatening weather called for haste and I was obliged 
to forego the pleasure of a ramble to familiar scenes 
around the picturesque Burnside bridge which I had 
photographed 1 1 years before. We were interested in 
two parts of the field — the line of Anderson's Confed- 
erate division and the position occupied by Hooker on 
the Union right. In locating the former we soon found 
ourselves in Piper's lane and walked down to the gray 
stone barn which stands as solid today as on that Wed- 
nesday afternoon when Hill and Sumner struggled for 
the mastery of this blood-drenched farmstead. 

Less than a mile beyond is the little whitewashed 
Dunker church which marks the key to Stonewall Jack- 
son's position. It stands in the woods at the west side 
of the Hagerstown pike at the intersection of the Smoke- 
town road. On the east side of the pike was the fa- 
mous cornfield where the Union soldiers under Hooker 
and Mansfield engaged in deadly combat with Jackson's 
men. In an area covering a few acres the losses on 
both sides in less than four hours' fighting on the morn- 
ing of September 17th probably exceeded 5,000 killed 
and wounded. 

All the important positions occupied by the troops 
on both sides have been marked by tablets erected by 
the Federal government and many memorials have been 
placed by the various states. One of the most interest- 
ing monuments is that of the State of Maryland to her 
sons — Union and Confederate — who perished at Anti- 
etam. It stands on a knoll a short distance east of the 
pike opposite the Dunker church. 

At 1 1 o'clock on Tuesday morning, July 25, our motor 
having been pronounced "cured," we slipped "Some- 
tub's" moorings and after adieus to hospitable friends 
in Shepherdstown, started on the second half of our 
journey. A mile and a half below the town we passed 
the ford over which Lee's army retreated from Anti- 
etam and saw the cliff where the Corn Exchange regi- 
ment came to grief in its pursuit of the Confederates. 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE THIRTY -ONE 

A little farther on we noted what we supposed was the 
site of Camp McAuley where the One Hundred and 
Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania regiment from Pittsburgh spent 
many a chilly bivouac in the autumn of 1862. 

The scenery on the canal between Shepherdstown 
and Harper's Ferry is not rivaled anywhere in the coun- 
try for its variety, abounding in pastoral beauty, his- 
toric interest and sublime grandeur. Our motor, being 
on its good behavior, the trip was uneventful. Across 
the river among the trees we descried the little hamlet 
of Falling Waters where occurred one of the first con- 
flicts of the Civil War. We glided over Antietam creek 
through a picturesque aqueduct and continued for miles 
on through the trees at the base of the lofty cliffs of 
Maryland Heights. 

After several stops to catch the pictures that pre- 
sented themselves at every turn, we reached the lock op- 
posite Harper's Ferry about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. 
We threw "Sometub's" line to a picket fence beside the 
canal and hastened across to the town to call at the post- 
office to receive an accumulation of 13 days' mail that 
had been forwarded from point to point all the way 
from Hancock. 

This is a late day to describe Harper's Ferry. Thomas 

1 Jefferson more than 100 years ago wrote a description 
of the place and stole the thunder from _his^ successors 
f or a lj time to corne. In October, 1859, old John Brown 

I in a different manner gave fresh fame to the locality, 

' and on a gallows over the hills at Charles Town paid the 
penalty with his life. Harper's Ferry got into the head- 
lines soon after Fort Sumter was fired upon and kept in 

\ the limelight till the very close of the war. Since that 
time the Baltimore and Ohio railroad has appropriated 

/ the old town, mountains, rivers, scenery, historic associ- 
ations and all and has overlooked no opportunity to ex- 

' ploit its beauty and its traditions. 

We had expected to have a veritable field day here 
with our camera, but when we came from the postoffice 
clouds rolled down from the mountains like great ava- 
lanches of snowy feathers, the village grew misty and 
rain began to fall. With no immediate prospect of clear 
weather we decided to continue our voyage. It would 
be heresy, however, not to present a picture of Harper's 
Ferry, and we are indebted to Mr. J. Hampton Baum- 
gartner, of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, for the 
one presented here. The railroad has acted the pious 
antiquarian in preserving this historic shrine and the 
fame of the sacred spot is perpetuated largely through 
the services of this corporation. Railroads more frequent- 
ly are ruthless vandals in their treatment of historic land- 
marks, but not so with the Baltimore and Ohio. This 
portion of the railroad is itself a talisman of history' 
Avorthy of every patriotic American's interest and study. 



PAGE THIRTY-TWO 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE 




Harper's Ferry, from Maryland Heights 



Rain was falling in torrents when we unleashed 
"Sometub" from the picket fence and started through 
the lock. By the time the one-armed locktender had 
opened the gates and we chugged out under the Balti- 
more and Ohio bridge at the entrance of the Maryland 
Heights tunnel the storm had grown to the proportions 
of a cloudburst. We found ourselves in a canyon of 
concrete with a sharp curve ahead. It was a perilous 
place to meet a canal boat and we continued on through 
the blinding storm. At the end of the canyon we moored 
to the towpath bank for a time, but with darkness ap- 
proaching and the rain continuing unabated, we re- 
solved to resume the voyage. 

At dusk we reached Brunswick. Everything above 
board on the boat, including ourselves was drenched. 
Scrambling out on the towpath I waded through the mud 
to inquire of the locktender for a place to tie up. De- 
spite the rain, we had decided to spend the night on 
"Sometub." We had become so attached to the little 
craft by this time that it seemed like ingratitude to go to 
a comfortable hotel and leave it out there in the storm 
and the night. 

But this was not to be. 



V. 



THERE must have been something about the appear- 
ance of our outfit or ourselves, or both, on the 
arrival of the bedraggled "Sometub" at Bruns- 
wick calculated to awaken the deepest sympathy of the. 
kind-hearted folk who watched us approach through the 
chilly rain. When I asked the lockmaster for a suit- 
able place to tie up for the night he pointed to a di- 
lapidated dock on the berm bank adjacent to an ancient 
and densely populated pig pen. 

"It would be very fine, except for the neighbors," I 
told him. "Pigs have a habit of getting up too early 
in the morning to suit us." This was not quite the rea- 
son for our objection to mooring beside a pig pen, but I 
aimed to be diplomatic. Perhaps they might be his 
pigs. "Crackey!" exclaimed the lockmaster, "You-all 
don't intend to spend the night in that boat, do you?" 

"Yes," I answered. "We have the most comfortable 
cabin you ever saw." 

Before the lockmaster could answer another man, 
who hastened over from the railroad yards, at once 
assumed the role of superintendent of the harbor, col- 
lector of the port, quarantine officer or whatever you 
would choose to call him. He spoke with the air of a 
person clothed with absolute authority. 

"Yes, yes; tie up over there and I'll " he 

began. 

"I have just told the lockmaster that I'll not tie up 
over there," I interposed. But our new friend disre- 
garded me entirely and continued: 

" I'll have an automobile here in five minutes 

to take you and the missus up to the hotel. Your boat 
will be safe till morning. Come from Pittsburgh, eh? 
How in Sam Hill did you get into the canal? I used ta 
work in Pittsburgh, but that was a good while ago. 
Pretty big place now, I suppose — " 

He was true to his word. An automobile oozed 
through the mud and the chauffeur announced that he 
was ready to take "the lady and gentleman to the hotel." 
In the presence of such an example of prompt service 
we reconsidered our resolution to spend the night in 
the boat and taking our baggage, we went to the hotel 
in our khakis. The people in the lobby must have 
thought that unkempt members of a band of gypsies had 
invaded the place when we rushed through to our room. 



PAGE THIRTY -FOUR SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

However, the opinions of bystanders as to the appear- 
ance of our traveling duds gave us little concern. We 
put on dry clothes and in a few minutes it was an- 
nounced that the dining room had been opened for our 
especial benefit. The young wife of the proprietor 
cooked and served a bountiful repast. She must have 
felt repaid for the effort by the manner in which we dis- 
patched all the good things she had prepared. 

The rain lasted through the night but Wednesday, 
July 26th, dawned with clear skies. We prepared to de- 
part early, but first stocked "Sometub" with provisions 
and fuel, Brunswick being the last large town on the 
canal on the way to Washington. Before us for a dis- 
tance of nearly 50 miles lay a stretch of sparsely set- 
tled country. From Brunswick to Point of Rocks the 
Baltimore and Ohio railroad runs close beside the tow- 
path and in the early morning, "Sometub" was greeted 
several times by passengers on the observation cars of 
the Royal Blue express trains which dashed by at a 
mile-a-minute speed. We wondered if the people who 
were fluttering handkerchiefs and waving hats envied 
us. It was while riding on the observation car several 
years ago on this same route that we had planned our 
voyage. In its realization we regretted that more vaca- 
tion tourists could not share the pleasure of our trip 
over the mountains — by water. We did not stop to con- 
sider that the majority of summer travelers desire speed, 
luxury and the least discomfort and would balk at the 
petty annoyances we endured through an obstinate motor 
and the omniesence of Jupiter Pluvius. 

Under the shadow of old Catoctin mountain we pas- 
sed the Point of Rocks, famous in the Civil War as the 
place where Lee's army crossed for the invasion of 
Maryland in the Antietam campaign. A few miles be- 
yond the course of the river turns from southeast to 
southwest and we sheered off sharply from the railroad. 
We crossed on the famous stone aqueduct over the 
Monocacy river. The character of the scenery changed 
quite as preceptibly as the direction of the stream. 
Through the drooping branches of the trees we saw on 
the north the rugged outlines of old Sugar Loaf peak 
and across the Potomac the undulating ridge of the 
southern spur of Catoctin, and when heights faded in 
the blue haze of a midsummer day, we bade farewell 
to the mountains. Henceforth our way ran through the 
lowlands down to the sea, the hills and river bluffs 
reaching an altitude of only a few hundred feet. 

At Edwards Ferry we saw the wooded face of Ball's 
Bluff which gave name to a Civil War conflict which was 
second only to Bull Run in causing discomfiture to the 
people of the North. In this little fight the country lost 
a notable figure in the person of General Edward D. 
Baker, first United States senator from Oregon. 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE THIRTY-FIVE 

For miles along this portion of our route we ran 
without seeing a human habitation. A dense strip 
of woodland concealed the river from view and bluffs 
or marshy thickets interposed between the canal and the 
country to the north. Occasionally through the trees 
we caught a fleeting glimpse of beautiful meadows and 
cornfields of the Maryland farmlands, but these vistas 
were rare. 

At White's Ferry, where on September 5th, 1862, \^ \/ 
Stonewall Jackson's army forded the Potomac, and 
while singing "My Maryland," marched gallantly on 
toward Frederick, we stopped under the highway bridge 
that spans the canal to replenish our supply of gasoline. 
Leaning over the rail of the bridge stood a native whose 
face was obscured by the shadow of a straw hat of im- 
mense brim. Over his shoulder was a fishing-pole of a 
length of thirty feet or more. He ignored our salutation 
when we approached, but after we had drifted under the 
bridge he crossed to the rail on the other side and in- 
quired: 

"Stranger, whar did you put that tub in this ditch?" 

"Cumberland." 

"By crackey!" And he sauntered down the road. 

The history of this "ditch" is a commercial romance 
closely linked with the political developments of the last 
one hundred and fifty years. During the period im- 
mediately preceding the Revolutionary War Washington 
devoted his chief attention toward the opening of the 
west to colonization and for a cheap transportation 
route foresaw that navigation on the waters of the 
upper Potomac would offer a direct outlet for the prod- 
ucts of the agricultural regions of the western country 
to the Atlantic seaboard. The alarm from Lexington in 
1775, of course, put an end to all immediate plans for 
the internal improvement among the colonies, but after 
Burgoyne had been cut off at Saratoga and Cornwallis 
had been bagged at Yorktown, Gen Washington again 
turned his attention to the transportation problem. Be- 
fore peace was restored he left the camp of the patriot 
army at Newburg and inspected the future route of the 
Erie canal through the Mohawk valley. 

Washington shrewdly divined that a canal between 
Lake Erie near Niagara, connecting it with the Mohawk 
and the Hudson would open up a route that would be a 
dangerous competitor to the southern colonies in their 
trade with the west. Soon after he was relieved from 
his military duties he made a tour of exploration with a 
view of locating a route connecting the Potomac with the 
Ohio and the Great Lakes. His journal sets forth 
clearly his wonderful farsightedness and broad compre- 
hension of the situation. Here is Washington's report 



-PAGE THIRTY-SIX SOM STUB'S CRUISE 

of his transportation line from Detroit to Alexandria, 
Va.: (The spelling is Washington's). 

To Cuyahoga River 125 Miles 

Up same to Portage 60 Miles 

Portage to Bever Ck 8 Miles 

Down Bever Ck to the Ohio 85 Miles 

Up the Ohio to Fort Pitt 25 Miles 

Mouth of Yohiogany 15 Miles 

Falls to Ditto 50 Miles 

Portage 1 Mile 

Three Forks or Turkey foot 8 Miles 

Ft. Cumberland or Wills Creek 30 Miles 

Alexandria 200 Miles 



Total 607 Miles 

Bear in mind that the "mouth of the Yohiogany" is 
:now McKeesport, that the "falls to ditto" indicates Ohio 
Pyle and that "Three Forks" means the present locality 
of Confluence, and compare the distances with present 
day surveys. They will not vary a mile on the entire 
stretch. Ask the eminent engineers of the Lake Erie & 
Ohio River Canal if they can add much to Washington's 
ideas. Their answer will give you added reasons for 
•celebrating on the 22nd of next February. 

In February, 1785, the laws were passed by the 
legislatures of Maryland and Virginia authorizing the 
formation of a company for the improvement of the Po- 
tomac river and books for the subscription of stock were 
opened at once. The total shares were 403 and the 
capital of the new Potomac Company was 40,300 pounds. 
Washington was elected its president and James Rum- 
sey, the inventor, whose monument we saw at Shep- 
herdstown, was general manager. In the summer of 
1785 the work of blasting rock and other obstructions 
was begun between Great Falls and Harper's Ferry. 

The work was prosecuted with vigor, but during 
the winter of 1786-87 there came a hint of labor trou- 
bles. Common laborers were paid 32 shillings (about 
$8.00) a month "with the usual ration except spirits, 
and with such reasonable allowance of spirits as the 
manager may from time to time think proper." The 
question of spirits seems to have been the chief cause 
of the trouble, for it is recorded that the company con- 
tracted for the supply of rum at "two shillings per gal- 
lon." It must have been the same kind of stuff that is 
peddled across the river to "dry" Virginians today. 

In 1787 Washington withdrew from active work in 
the company to accept the presidency of the Republic. 
His retirement sealed the fate of the corporation. Its 
affairs languished for years and in 1823 was declared 
■defunct. 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE 



PAGE THIRTY-SEVEN 



In the same year — 1823 a date since famous for the 
promulgation of the Monroe doctrine — the navigation 
project was again revived in the Maryland legislature. 
It was estimated that the proposed work of cutting a 
canal from tide-water (Washington, D. C.) up the Poto- 
mac, across the mountains to a branch of the Ohio, and 
down the same, at $1,500,000, of which Virginia, Mary- 
land and the District of Columbia were each to subscribe 
one-third. The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Company 
was incorporated by the Maryland legislature in 1825 
with a capital stock of $6,000,030, Congress having pre- 




Tom Thumb— B. & O. 1830 



viously made an appropriation of $30,000 for preliminary 
surveys. The route selected for the canal alarmed the 
citizens of Baltimore. They saw that it would divert 
trade from their city. About this time Philip E. Thomas, 
a Baltimore banker, and George Brown, an enterprising 
resident of that city, took earnest counsel between them- 
selves to save the traffic for their town. On the 19th of 
February, 1827, they held a meeting with their townsmen 
which was destined to become memorable in the whole 
history of transportation. 

Up in Quincy, Mass., and in Maunch Chaunk, Pa., 
for a year or two wagons had been operated on rails, 
and Mr. Thomas inquired of his confreres why a "rail 
road" would not be practicable from Baltimore to the 
Ohio. The whole world knows the answer: On February 
28, 1828, a charter was granted to the Baltimore and 
Ohio Railroad Company, Mr. Thomas resigned the presi- 
dency of the Machanics' Bank in Baltimore to become 
the head of the first American railway system. 



PAGE THIRTY-EIGHT SOMETUB'S CRUISE 



THEN began a memorable commercial race between 
canal and railroad. Their prospective routes were 
parallel and both sought the same destination — the Ohio 
river at Pittsburgh. Early in 1826 both companies were 
in the field surveying for their respective highways. On 
the fourth of July succeeding celebrations were planned 
by the rival corporations. In Washington on that day 
President John Quincy Adams, the members of his cabi- 
net, foreign ambassadors, survivors of the Revolutionary 
War and a great throng of citizens proceeded up the 
Potomac to Great Falls where the first spadeful of earth 
in the construction of the canal was turned by the Presi- 
dent of the United States. 

Over in Baltimore at the same hour the venerable 
Charles Carroll of Carrollton, the only surviving signer 
of the Declaration of Independence lifted a spadeful of 
earth in placing the foundation stone to commemorate 
the commencement of the building of the Baltimore and 
Ohio Railroad. The railroad was completed to the Mary- 
land shore opposite Harper's Ferry in 1834 and was 
opened to operation December 1, the work on the canal 
at that time having proceeded more rapidly, despite in- 
junctions, financial embarrassments and a multitude of 
obstacles that interfered with the work. The canal finally 
was completed to Cumberland February 17, 1851. 

In the meantime the railroad had struggled to suc- 
cess in spite of similar obstacles. The Baltimore and 
Ohio was opened to the public May 22, 1830, and was 
received with approbation of the public. At this time 
the line extended from Baltimore to EUicott's Mills, a 
distance of 12 miles. It was advertised that "brigades 
of cars left Baltimore at 6 and 10 a. m. and 3 and 4 
p. m." These "brigades" of cars first were hauled by 
horses and mules and later a brother of President 
Thomas invented a car which moved by sails. The 
superintendent of motive power, nevertheless, was enter- 
prising and steam was soon applied. As early as 1831 
the company offered a prize of $4,000 for the best loco- 
motive offered for trial on the road. It is a curious fact 
that a watchmaker of York, Pa., built the first practicable 
models. 

One of these, the "Atlantic," on August 25, 1835, 
drew the first train into Washington amid the applause 
of President Andrew Jackson and a distinguished assem- 
blage. This "grasshopper" locomotive was in use a 
generation later when it hauled the vanguard of Union 
soldiers to save the national capital in 1861. It de- 
veloped a speed of 30 miles an hour which was regarded 
as suicidal in the early days of railroading. Although 
superannuated, the "Atlantic" is still in a good state of 
preservation and can be operated under its own power. 



SOM STUB'S CRUISE 



PAGE THIRTY-NINE 



The canal and railroad are no longer competitors. 
The bonds of the former company are held by the rail- 
road. The canal is in operation during the season of 
navigation and more than 100 boats are engaged in pro- 




"Atlantic" Engine B. & O. 1832 



viding low-priced transportation for coal from Cumber- 
land to the seaboard. On the railroad "brigades of 
cars" are seen at intervals of a few minutes dashing 
along behind locomotives that weight more than twenty 
times that of the little old "Atlantic." 



VI. 

'T^HROUGH the sultry afternoon of Wednesday, July 
•*- 25th, "Sometub" ran for hours under the willows 
that fringe the Maryland meadows in Montgomery 
county. Across the river the Virginia shore presented 
an endless panorama of wooded hills that grew less 
rugged in their outlines as we proceeded down the 
stream. At sunset we were running through a marshy 
region and decided to keep on rather than invite malaria 
by spending the night on the border of a swamp. We 
were happy when, in the receding twilight, we espied 
the hills of Seneca creek and knew by consulting our 
topographical maps that we would have a more healthy- f- Ul. 
mooring place. At Seneca a widewater covers about ten 
acres and under a big sycamore tree beside the little 
lake we tied "Sometub," preparing dinner on our 
"canned heat"' range and serving it on our poncho which 
was spread on the soft, green turf. 

The dying embers of a campfire were visible across 
an arm of the lake and after dinner we went to pay a 
neighborly call. Beside the fire was a tiny "pup" tent 
supported by two canoe paddles. On our approach three 
young men greeted us. A week before, they told us, 
they had started out from their homes in Washington 
on a fishing trip up the river. In the Potomac the bass 
were not biting but the mosquitoes were and betwixt 
hope and desperation they had turned into the canal. 
Now they were having fairly good luck and were com- 
fortable. 

Our new friends punctilously returned the call. 
One of the youths was the son of a naval officer and 
expressed much interest in "Sometub," and its unique 
cabin arrangement. We sat in the lantern light till mid- 
night swapping motorboat experiences for fish stories. 
In this we had the better of the deal. 

Thursday dawned clear and hot. Our neighbors, 
the fishermen, were out before sunrise and had break- 
fasted on their catch of perch, catfish and "sunnies" 
before we were stirring. Old Sol drank up the dew with- 
in a few minutes after his appearance over the Vir- 
ginia hills and we made an excursion into a blackberry 
thicket where we picked a dish of luscious fruit for 
breakfast. It was our last berry feast of the season. 
After reciprocating photographs of our respective 
"camps," we headed for Seneca lock and were lowered 
through it by members of a troop of Washington Boy 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE FORTY-ONE 

Scouts who volunteered their assistance to the lock- 
master. 

At noon we reached Great Falls. Here are 13 locks 
in a series of two, seven chambers in the first and six 
in the second. The actual time in making the descent 
was considerably less than two hours. We stopped at 
the first lock, and upon payment of a small fee to the 
lockmaster, were admitted to the private park surround- 
ing the Great Falls of the Potomac. Crossing a swing- 
ing bridge to an island in the river we obtained a mag- 
nificent view of the cataract. The stream was at flood 
stage and the scene rivaled the rapids of the lower 
Niagara. 

In the late summer and autumn of 1861 the Union 
and Confederate pickets frequently exchanged compli- 
ments at short range from behind the rocks and boulders 
along this stretch of the Potomac. If you have any 
friends among the survivors of the Pennsylvania Re- 
serves, ask them to tell you of their experiences during 
the open season for snipers in those exciting days. 

In the middle of the afternoon we passed Cabin 
John bridge and moored "Sometub" at the lock at the 
foot of Glen Echo park. In the shade of the trees every- 
thing looked cool and refreshing and we decided to 
spend the evening with friends in Washington, but a 
few minutes after we stepped off the boat we realized 
that it was the hottest day of the summer. The lock- 
master's wife invited us to go into her house and as- 
signed us "spare rooms" to change our clothes. Going 
to Washington by trolley, we found the heat in the city 
almost intolerable after our fortnight in the open air 
of the mountains. After dinner in town against the 
protests of fi lends we returned to the boat and were 
lulled to slumber by the music in the dancing pavilion 
of the park. 

JUPITER PLUVIUS had been on hand at the beginning 
of the voyage and now at its close he was in evi- 
dence again. Rain interrupted us at breakfast and con- 
tinued through the forenoon. Disregarding the showers 
we started on the last lap of our cruise and at 11 o'clock 
reached Lock No. 1, or, according to our count, No. 75 
from Cumberland. We surrendered our waybill with 
the request that the canal company would return it to 
us to keep as a souvenir. After a pleasant chat to the 
lockmaster during which time we took refuge from a 
particularly annoying shower, "Sometub" was lowered 
to the Georgetown level. A few minutes later the lofty 
towers supporting the arials of the naval radio station at 
Arlington were visible and rounding a majestic curve to 
the eastward, we beheld the fantastic skyline of the 
National Capital. 




'BACK HOME" 



SOMETUB'S CRUISE PAGE EORTY-THREE 

Threading our way between a fleet of canal boats, 
tugs, skiffs and nondescript craft we reached the coal 
wharf in Georgetown and ran "Sometub" into the mud at 
the ancient lock which connects the canal with Rock 
creek, its outlet into the waters of the Potomac. The 
waterfront at Georgetown is no prepossessing place and 
the attitude of the bystanders was not calculated to lead 
the boatman to leave his property unguarded. Asking 
the obliging lockmaster to "keep an eye" on "Some- 
tub" I went up a side street to the office of the Chesa- 
peake and Ohio Canal Company to report our arrival 
and to meet in person Mr. A. Sahli, the secretary, with 
whom I had had an interesting telephone conversation 
last winter when in Washington arranging for the 
voyage. 

Mr. Sahli had been most obliging and we felt grate- 
ful for his advice. He told me that a short distance be- 
low^ the lock at the railroad yards I could take the boat 
from the water and ship it back to Pittsburgh. It seemed 
that every possible convenience was provided for the 
skipper directing a "portable cruise." 

I cannot describe my feelings when I returned to 
the wharf. We refused to realize that our voyage was 
at an end. It seemed that to take down the canopy, pack 
our stores and utensils and lift "Sometub" from the 
water would leave us absolutely homeless. It was still 
raining. For a long time we sat in the boat debating 
what to do. It was Friday and we had three days re- 
maining on our hands. The little boat never looked more 
friendly, cozy and hospitable than just now. We had 
been companions on a most interesting journey and to 
leave it to pursue our own pleasure was like parting 
with a faithful partner in adversity. 

We compromised by exploring new waters. Giving 
the signal to the lockmaster, we were lowered into Rock 
creek and started up that winding stream toward Rock 
Creek park where we hoped to find a quiet place to tie 
up. We ran under the arched bridge of Pennsylvania 
avenue and under the trees to a point at the foot of the 
hill below DuPont circle but here shoal water checked 
our progress. Reluctantly we turned back and ran out 
to the dam where the creek empties into the Potomac. 
Here our cruise came near terminating in a tragedy. 
We were within 30 yards of the dam before we saw that 
water to a depth of a foot or more was pouring over 
its crest into the swirling river 15 feet below. The motor 
refused to reverse. We were caught in the current and 
drifted broadside toward the dam. 

Then we learned that a spruce canoe paddle is the 
most reliable of all motors for a small boat in moments 
of emergency. It was impossible to stem the current, 
but we succeeded in edging off from the middle of the 
stream and when almost at the edge of the dam caught 



PAGE FORTY-FOUR SOMETUB'S CRUISE 

some wisps of willows and held "Sometub" until a line 
was thrown ashore. 

After extricating ourselves from this predicament 
we ran back to the entrance of the canal and met a great, 
whole-souled man in the person of Mr. Michael O'Leary. 
night watchman in a machine shop on the river front and 
the owner of a houseboat in Rock Creek. True to all 
the virtues of his nationality, Mr. O'Leary possesses a 
generous heart and bountiful hospitality. Shure, it 
would be all right to tie up to his boat and he would be 
plased to keep an eye on the wee tub. 

Honesty was written all over his face and we left 
"Sometub" in his care, going downtown to spend another 
evening with friends but returned at night to our cabin. 
Saturday morning we were confronted by the inevitable 
necessity of "taking down" the superstructure of the 
boat and packing our baggage. Mr. O'Leary was on 
hand with a group of longshoremen who lifted "Some- 
tub" from the water and carried it to a freight car as if 
it were a toy. We felt homeless now indeed. Only the 
refreshing good humor of Michael O'Leary mellowed 
our regret that our voyage was at an end. 

"Sometub" in its freight car berth started that night 
on its return to Pittsburgh for many subsequent week- 
end excursions on the Allegheny, but we tarried a day 
longer. On Sunday morning we crossed over to Vir- 
ginia and went to old Christ Church in Alexandria. 
There in that historic temple of worship, with its sacred 
memories of George Washington, we rounded our fort- 
night's journey. From first to last we had followed in 
the footsteps of the greatest American. 



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